


you whisper like a ghost

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anxiety Disorder, Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, Kinda, M/M, Pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Vomiting, he's a trans man I repeat he is trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Kent holds him closely saying nothing.  Jack shudders, unsure why he hoped for anything different.





	you whisper like a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is "the four times Jack/Kent said something to the other while they were sleeping and the one time they didn't have to"  
> because I got All I Ever Wanted by The Airborne Toxic Event stuck in my head and kept imagining Jack and Kent trying to reach out to each other over the years 
> 
> in the words of someone awesome this fic is "abused kids wondering how the fuck to parent" and portrays adults (esp the Zimmermanns) in really nuanced and flawed ways so proceed at your own risk

2009

Winters in Montreal are relentless. The darkness seeps in far too early, much like the icicles adorning Jack’s bedroom window. It’s three am after a win against Halifax. They were invited to an after-party at Dino’s house. But Kent took one look at Jack and made some excuse about getting sleep before he comes down with a cold.

Jack doesn’t know whether to be grateful or pissed.

He rolls away from the window, facing Kent. whose face is inches away from Jack’s chest. Kent snores softly as he drools onto the flannel pillow case. Jack wrinkles his nose before sighing. Jack sinks further into the pillow, imagining the soft cushion quietly smothering him. He shudders, not knowing where the thought came from, or why it was so comforting.

Technically, his head is resting against Kent’s pillow. The one he brought up from New York that he scrimped and saved for months to be able to afford. He says it keeps him from hallucinating. Jack never bothers to ask what that means.

All he knows is that last week he puked up half a day’s food onto his own pillow. Kent spent the night showering him and talking him down from a panic attack. The anxiety meds help Jack a lot, but not even the highest dosage can totally block the way his body trembles and the way he cries mercilessly when he’s coming down from a particularly long binge.

Jack closes his eyes, shuddering at the memory. He imagines the feeling of Kent’s hand rubbing slow circles into his back. He vaguely remembers his mother doing the same for him when he was younger and more sickly.

Logically, he thinks it’s odd that his comfort is Kent, and not his own parents. His dad isn’t big on physical contact outside of publicity events where he slings an arm around Jack’s shoulder, talking up how he’s going to be bigger than Uncle Wayne, Uncle Mario, and even himself. His dad doesn’t know how to talk to him outside of tape viewings and motivational speeches. It’s okay, though, Jack thinks.

At least Bob cares about his well being. Unlike Alicia who spends more time on movie sets or at charity galas in New York and LA than she does in Montreal, let alone around Jack.

Jack runs his fingers down the checkered pattern of Kent’s pillowcase. He takes in every minute groove of its soft cotton texture. It’s calming and mesmerizing in ways he can’t articulate. Most things make him anxious nowadays. Most of the things that used to bring him joy make him feel numb and tired. He barely understands why he’s playing hockey anymore.

He pries his eyes wide open, staring at the poster of Bad Bob skating heroically to the 1993 Stanley Cup. The last one he ever got, despite continuing in the NHL for another six years after. He misses a lot of things about those days before his dad retired. Like the way Alicia used to take him on projects with a nanny that would clock out once Alicia was done filming. He misses that year they lived in LA, just the two of them. He misses how he could call her maman and all her supermodel friends would coo at him and ask about what he learned from his history tutor that day.

He misses being a child more than an eighteen year old should. He misses the simple things when Bob was this ephemeral icon linking him to his Canadian heritage and Alicia was the kind of mom who would use her Mondays off to take him to theme parks and beaches or just cuddle in bed.

He doesn’t know what having two parents feels like. Kent groans next to him. Jack’s still for a moment until Kent’s sufficiently scooted closer to him, one arm lazily draping itself across Jack’s stomach. Kent murmurs something in Spanish before snoring once more.

Jack buries his head in Kent’s tangled hair. He smells like cinnamon and chocolate. He hasn’t been home in months, so the normal undertone of tamarind is dulled and fading. Jack wonders if Kent remembers his birth mother. If he misses her as much as Jack misses the way things were.

He pulls Kent into his chest, smiling to himself as Kent nuzzles into him. The season is as long and bitter as the winters here. Hockey is complicated, family is abysmal at best.

But Kenny, he’s as simple as breathing. Even when the air is thin and icy, Jack has to keep drinking him in. It’s impossible for him not to.

“I need you,” Jack whispers. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

He waits for a second before adding, “Don’t leave, please.”

He waits for Kent to respond back. He wants Kent to promise him he won’t or to convince him that he’s illogical and they’ll figure things out even if they get hard. But much like their arguments, that have gotten more frequent the closer they get to the draft, Kent holds him closely saying nothing.

Jack shudders, unsure why he hoped for anything different.

_/.\\_

2012

Kent stares up at the popcorn ceiling of this cheap motel he booked for himself not twenty minutes before. He’s somewhere outside of Seattle. He didn’t bother to check the road signs or direction as he told the cab driver to get him somewhere far away and private.

The Aces lost in an embarrassing shutout.

It was Kent’s fault. He didn’t get to the puck fast enough. He wasn’t attentive enough when it wasn’t his shift. He wasn’t ready for the rookie D-man slamming him into the boards three or four times.

He can barely focus on anything that isn’t chasing the ghost of Jack toward another Cup win. One championship wasn’t enough to make Jack happy, maybe two will be. Or maybe he’s twenty one and his career peaked two seasons ago.

He’s captain now, and he has no idea what he’s doing most of the time. The guys, especially the rookies and his friends, keep looking to him like he has all the answers. Like he could lead them to victory if he so much as sneezed.

Kent rolls over, curling into a ball as he groans. He isn’t that guy. He is far from the leader the Aces deserve.

That guy is voluntarily exiled to a school in the middle of Massachusetts. Kent fucked that guy up so much that he refuses to speak to him.

The Cup isn’t enough, and neither is the Calder. And it sure as fuck won’t be screwing up the entire organization until Jack’s ready to sign.

Kent shivers, remembering briefly that Jack might not sign with the Aces. He’s not even sure Jack wants to be in the NHL. But how would he know? Kent hasn’t heard Jack utter a kind word to him in years.

Just a spitting remark that was thrown at him before Jack stormed off a year ago.

_You’re a shitty player, at best. No one cares about what you can do, alright?_

Being the best isn’t enough. Kent scrubs his face furiously. If he didn’t have to be back in Vegas tomorrow night, he’d grab a bottle of brandy and chug until he forgot his own name.

He isn’t good enough for his team, or his friends, or even the love of his life. He sure as fuck isn’t enough for his birth mother.

She made that much apparent the day she walked out on him, Izzy, and Ma. For the life of him, he still can’t understand what provokes someone to leave their own kids like that. He can never unsee the look of disgust she gave them as she walked out the door one last time.

Kent clung to Mariana for two days after that. At least one of his parents understood what it feels like to be trans. He never had to be scared of her rejecting him, even when everyone else inevitably did.

Sometimes it was in the little things: in the way guys in Juniors sneered at how dainty he looked; in the way girls frowned when they couldn’t feel an erection against their thighs; in the way he had to fight some people to not treat him like glass.

His eyes sting as his vision blurs. He’s not man enough for the NHL, but he’s too manly for the rest of the world.

“Fucking bullshit,” he mutters to himself.

Kent wipes his face on his shirt sleeve. He heaves a large sigh. He thinks about a rink on the other side of the country where a college team won their first home game of the season. He smiles to himself, imagining the broad grin on Jack’s face. He misses being the one to make Jack feel that way. He misses knowing where to go or how to feel.

He closes his eyes, forgetting for a second that he hasn’t called anywhere home in years. Because his shattered, got up and left him. His home is thousands of miles away, trying to piece himself back together.

Kent wishes he could be there for him, wishes he could take back every mistake he made to push Jack over the edge.

“I don’t know when you’re gonna come back,” he whispers, swallowing thickly. “But I’m gonna fix shit.”

He shivers, burying his head under a starch stiff pillow. He dozes off not long after, dreaming of a phone that will never ring.

_/.\\_  

2018

It’s December, and the end of another roadie. Jack was supposed to have a few days to go up to Montreal with his parents to celebrate Chanukah. Instead, his team can’t even get out of New York. Most of his teammates are waiting out the night and renting cars back to Providence. Snowy offered Jack a seat in his car, but he turned him down.

Instead, he pulls his phone out of his bag as the rest of the Falcs take shuttles back to their hotel. He dials a number he hasn’t used in years.

“Hello?” a woman says on the other line.

“Mariana? It’s Jack,” he says.

“I know, honey,” she says slowly. “What’s up?”

“Do you think I could spend the night?”

“Of course,” she says without missing a beat. “You remember how to get get here?”

“Yea,” he says.

He changes out of his suit in the bathroom of Kennedy. Holster always chirps him about dressing like a robber while Nursey says it gives him a distinct hipster aesthetic. Jack shakes his head fondly. He waves to some of the staff and Snowy before heading to the AirTrain. It’s after one in the morning when he arrives in front of the side door for a small bakery on a street corner in Harlem.

Jack takes a shaky breath before ringing the doorbell. A minute later, the door flings open, a young woman not much shorter than him with thick black curls and hazel eyes glares at him coldly.

“Zimmermann,” she says.

“Isabel,” he tries to say evenly.

She shakes her head, moving aside to allow him to go up the stairs. She follows quietly behind him.

“First door on the right,” she calls behind him.

Jack goes in without knocking. The building itself doesn’t look much different than it did last time he was here. But the Vasquez’s apartment seems to be much bigger on the inside than it was before. It looks like three or four walls were knocked down to make it more spacious.

His breath catches a little in his throat. It feels like life went on without him. Logically, he knows that’s true, and that no one owed it to him to keep things the same. That doesn’t make the new portraits of Aces players on the walls or more of Abuela's blankets than he can count any less unsettling.

“C’mon,” Isabel nudges his shoulder gently. “Kenny said you could have his bed.”

Jack swallows, nodding as he follows her back. Kent’s room hasn’t changed at all. Everything’s still in place, as if no one has lived here in years. Jack shivers a little, wondering when was the last time Kent was home for more than a few hours.

He spends longer than he’d like to admit tracing every nook and cranny of the room with his fingers, letting the good memories seep back in slowly. They’ve gotten a lot better over the years. He’d go as far to say that Kent is one of his best friends. It’s odd to be here without him, but it’s mildly comforting to know he’s welcome.

Even if he feels like he doesn't deserve the hospitality. There’s a knock at the door, Jack turns around. Marianna is leaning against the doorframe with a knitted blanket in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

“Herbal tea with honey...honey,” she jokes.

She has Kent’s nose and his warm smile. His real smile, that is. Jack takes them off her hands. He kisses her cheek like he saw her last week instead of three years ago when he and Kent finally made amends.

“It’s no problem,” she says. “You’re always welcome here.”

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or somewhat ashamed. So he looks away as he murmurs, “Thanks.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Until the storm dies down.”

She nods. “I’ll set up the old menorah in the morning.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s ok, Jack,” she interrupts softly. “We might as well get some use out of it.”

He frowns, looking at her briefly. She seems sincere, kind. The same woman that couldn’t afford to bring Kent home for the holidays but invited Jack to stay every summer. As if she could handle another mouth to feed.

She always did more than what was expected of her. Of course that’s where Kent learned it from. Kent would give and give until his blood ran dry, and still think he was screwing up. That’s something Jack didn’t figure out until they started talking again. Until Jack spent a few weeks here and there watching Kent be a better captain than he could ever hope to be, but still treat himself like nothing special.

He’s glad Kent always had her. He doesn’t know what Kent would’ve done with any other parent, or his birth mother still around. He can’t even imagine what would’ve happened if Kathleen had never left. He doesn’t think he would’ve met Kent, or gotten as far in the Q as he did, or even survived—  

Arms wrap around him carefully. He realizes after a second that it’s Mariana’s arms, and his face is wet. He trembles against her.

“You’ve had a long day,” she says. “You can sleep if you want, or there’s a new flatscreen down the hall if you can’t.”

He smiles into her shoulder. Mariana’s arms tighten around him.

“We’re glad to have you here, Jack,” she says firmly. “Even Izzy.”

He chuckles, trying to believe her. An hour later, he’s given up on sleep, relegating himself to a corner of the new sectional in the living room as he watches some comic book documentary on Netflix. He tries to concentrate on what the interviewees are saying about the history? The cultural ramifications? The iconography associated with logos and characters?

Jack can’t even tell anymore. He finds it more comforting to stare more than pay attention. His mind wanders to thoughts about how to improve drills for next week, or how to shift the lines for Power Plays. Part of him feels so disappointed that he didn’t stay with his team, didn’t take up extra hours that were meant to be family time to strategize more.

He thinks about Arcade Fire and bands he hasn’t had the time to listen to in years. Because they don’t mesh well with his workout playlist. He shakes it off. The season’s barely begun, there’s no sense in missing something he can’t have.

He gets a text halfway through the documentary.

_Kenny: still awake?_

His thumb hovers over the screen for a minute, unsure of how to respond.

_Kenny: no pressure, Ma said you got there safe and sound so_

_Kenny: no pressure._

Jack huffs, dialing Kent’s phone. He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Yea?”

“Why are you up?” Jack asks.

“Isn’t that my line?” Kent chirps.

“Kenny—”

“Jack,” he responds a slightly mocking tone. “See? I can do it too.”

Jack tries to hold back a chuckle. He fails, and it’s a little scratchy a hollow. It reminds him of how Kent used to laugh when things weren’t ok.

Kent makes a displeased sound. “Wanna talk or a distraction?”

“Distraction,” Jack admits quietly.

“So Johnny and Carter started their own prank war,” Kent says without missing a beat. “So my pool is now fucking green jello. Because fuck my life, right?”

Jack snorts.

“Yea you think it’s funny now,” Kent says. “But wait until I fill every sink in Johnny’s house with chocolate pudding.”

Jack rolls his eyes, humming neutrally instead of chirping Kent. He listens to Kent talk about everything except hockey for what feels like ages, but in a good way. Kent keeps talking until well after the credits roll and Jack puts on one of his mom’s movies for background noise. He talks until his speech is slurring and Jack can imagine his lids falling heavily. Jack can feel it happening to himself.

He groans a little as some of the tension in his back eases.

“Shoulders bugging you?” Kent asks.

“Yea,” Jack grumbles.

“Maybe sleep in tomorrow,” he says. “Y’know, if you can.”

“I’ll try,” Jack compromises.

Kent’s gotten better at boundaries just like he’s gotten better at meeting him halfway.

“Wanna hear another dumb story or you off to bed?” Kent asks.

“One more,” Jack mumbles, his eyes closed.

The sound of Kent’s voice is low, thick, and reassuring. It’s a lilt that made him smile at sixteen,  a thrum of comfort that relaxes him at twenty eight. He’s under Kent’s favorite blanket, surrounded by memories Kent’s made before and after him. A movie they used to watch on long nights when he couldn’t sleep plays in the background.  

Even miles away, Kent is keeping him steady. Reminding him that he’s cared for...loved.

He doesn’t say anything as Kent’s voice drifts off. He waits until quiet snores fill his ear.

“Night Kenny,” he whispers. “Love you.”

He hangs up the phone, passing out from exhaustion not long after.

_/.\\_

2020

Kent wakes up from another nightmare. He instinctively reaches out for the other side of the bed. Unlike most times, his hand lands on Jack’s chest. He almost jumps out of his skin from the contact. But just as quickly as it shakes him, the sensation of Jack’s favorite night shirt tethers him to reality.

He takes long, steadying breaths. He counts backwards from a hundred in Spanish and ignores the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You’re ok,” he murmurs to Jack. “You’re ok. You’re ok. You’re alive.”

He keeps saying it until he believes it. Eventually, he eases himself back into bed, facing Jack. Kent memorizes every angle and curve of Jack’s profile, as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to do it. He goes to therapy every week for this. Sometimes it’s easier than others.

But on nights like this, when all he can see is a haunting blue—of Jack’s eyes rolling into his skull, of his pills, of the bathroom Kent will never step foot in ever again—it’s hard to keep reality straight.

Everything is marred in old wounds that never healed properly. He’s worked his way up to standing conversations with Jack’s parents, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them as far as he can throw them. It doesn’t mean he can ever get back that idol worship he had for Bob or the kindred spirit he thought he had in Alicia. Maybe they’ll find a neutral ground...eventually. But only after all of their ghosts have been buried, and he really learns to accept care from other people who aren’t his family or his team.

There are some things he’ll never get back. He can’t get the years he spent trapped between dissociation, self-hatred, and substance abuse. He can’t get back his innocence or youthful optimism. However, some things are salvageable—like his sense of security, stable moods, his sense of self worth...Jack.   

He watches Jack sleep until he can see the first glimpses of dawn creeping into the bedroom. It’s offseason, so there’s no harm in sleeping in just this once.

“You scare me shitless y’know?” Kent whispers. “I can’t stop imagining what’s gonna happen when shit goes south. I don’t think I can take losing you a second time.”

Jack snores peacefully next to him. Kent shakes his head.

“Gotta learn to trust you more, right,” he says.

He leans over, kissing Jack’s cheek lightly. He thinks about getting up to make breakfast. Instead, Jack grumbles in his sleep, turning towards Kent and pulling him into his chest. It knocks the breath out of Kent. He still isn’t used to this—the Jack that knows how to communicate and tries to meet Kent halfway. Half the time Jack asks what he needs and Kent doesn’t know what to say. It’s frustrating and surreal at the same time.

Learning how to want things, accepting that others care about him and probably won’t leave, is a constant work in process.

He presses a kiss to Jack’s shoulder.

“I love you so fucking much it scares the shit out of me,” Kent says. “But we’re gonna be ok right?”

Jack snores a little louder. Kent smirks, taking it as a good sign.

_/.\\_

2022

Jack is still up at 3 am. He spent half the night rubbing Kent’s back as he slowly fell asleep. Kent hasn’t gotten much sleep now that the baby is kicking him in full force. Between his anxiety and Kent’s mood swings, the last few months have been filled to the brim with doctors appointments, family visits, and couple’s therapy sessions.

Kent jokes it keeps them busy enough not to argue. Jack doesn’t mention the way Kent’s shoulders sag when he thinks no one's looking. They’re working on it, just like everything else. For now, Jack keep his hands busy massaging away the aches and pains while they binge watch everything on Kent’s extensive list. It’s something he started after the OD, taking note of everything he watched that reminded him of Jack. Some things they’d never be able to get back. But Jack thinks this is easy enough to find closure.

He watches Kent shift uncomfortably in his sleep, hand instinctively cupping his belly. Jack lies down behind him, gently rubbing the spot where their daughter is kicking Kent relentlessly. She stops after a minute, seemingly calming down.

Jack grins, chuckling softly. He kisses the back of Kent’s shoulder. He misses hockey sometimes. It’s an ache in his muscles that’s dulled to a quiet murmur. Having a family, though, that’s something he never thought he’d live to see.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the baby. “We’re new to this. Be patient. We’ll try harder than they did.”

“Fuck yea we will,” Kent grumbles.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Same, but y’know how it goes—baby kicking from one side, fiance talking on the other,” Kent chirps. “Makes it kinda hard to sleep.”

“Sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Kent says, sitting up slowly. “Kid’s gotta pee anyway. Brb.”

Jack watches him lethargically scoot out of bed, waddling to the bathroom where he leaves the door open. Because some scars never heal properly.

“Jack,” Kent says after a minute. “Little help here?”

He gets out of bed to help Kent off the toilet. They end up in the living room putting on a movie while Kent makes hot chocolate.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kent asks when he sits down next to Jack.

Jack has to stop himself from saying no. He presses a kiss to Kent’s temple. Kent’s hair smells like chocolate, cinnamon, and tamarind. Kent leans back against him. It takes them a minute to figure out a comfortable position, but once they do Jack feels more at ease.

They watch You’ve Got Mail in silence.

“I’m scared too y’know,” Kent says after a while.

Jack takes the lifeline. “Yea?”

Kent nods, taking a sip of his coco. “I don’t wanna fuck them up anymore than you do. And I’m not exactly the posterchild for ‘stable nuclear family’.”

Jack snorts.

“Families are weird, babe. Parents are weird. People...fuck up kids all the time.”

“I don’t want to,” Jack says.

“Me neither.”

“What are we going to do?”

Kent grunts, readjusting himself. He takes one of Jack’s hands and laces it with his on his stomach.

“We’re gonna admit when we’re wrong, and apologize for shit...and we’re gonna listen to everything she tells us because that’s our fucking job,” he says.

Jack hums in agreement. They’re a team, for better or worse. He knows they’re capable of anything.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jack says.

Kent grins. It knocks the breath of out Jack.

“Fuck yea we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> title - lyrics from All I Ever Wanted by The Airborne Toxic Event
> 
> sorry I have two WIPs right now, part of why I've been holding off on one of them is I finally needed to rip the bandaid off and write Kent pregnant. So expect that to come up a lot more now that I've done it 
> 
> extra special thanks to Tori for cheer-reading and Kat for beta-ing. Y'all are the best and I appreciate tf out of you <333


End file.
